


A Thousand Ashen Snowflakes

by graille



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Kanaya's Second Death, S: Game Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graille/pseuds/graille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever cry because Rose Lalonde watched Kanaya Maryam die? Because I sure do.</p>
<p> Basically, a summary of Rose's last thoughts before she tries to take on the Condesce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Ashen Snowflakes

You see it coming too late to save her.

Haha. "See it coming". You're a seer. Dave would find that funny. Only he wouldn't, because Karkat is dead too, and you know that he liked the grumpy troll more than he would ever admit. It wouldn’t be cool, to do that, and Dave has spent too much time building up his ironic façade to let it drop now. In fact, you strongly suspect that the death of his brother has only reinforced his borderline obsession -

Your brain keeps going, rattling down the same old tracks, analysing and dissecting and prodding and poking because you don't know what to do.  
When Mom died you were grimdark, and it was good because it didn't hurt. There was no pain, there was only rage, rage and darkness and a burning desire to make someone pay. At least, that's what you think. Your memories of the time are still fuzzy; eldritch horrors beyond imaging have a tendency to scramble one's brain (although you suspect you may be repressing the recollections somewhat.) 

You can't do that now. Not here. Not today. You don't have the cue ball to trigger the broodfester tongues; you haven't felt the horrorterrors in you head since you caused the Scratch. Grimdarkness is not an escape from this - but you can't think of anything else.

Not when your girlfriend is gone.

You can't even manage to think that she's dead, because death suggests a corpse, remains, _something_ to show of the girl who lived and breathed and sewed and died. But she is gone, and in her place is a neat little pile of ashes, all that's left of Kanaya Maryam already beginning to drift away on the wind. So many ashen snowflakes.  
Ashen. You remember something about that.

-  
 _Kanaya, slightly tipsy; you, horrifically drunk. You were slouched together on a couch in one of the many rooms on the meteor, your legs draped over her lap, her hand in your hair. Kanaya was trying to explain the quadrants to you, in that prim but gentle tone you love so much- loved so much - who cares?_  
 _"And I," she told you, stroking your hair, "Am Usually Roped In As An Auspistice." Somehow, you always heard her quirk when she spoke. Maybe it was the way she formed the words, so carefully and properly._  
 _"I remember - hic - I know that one," you told her excitedly, "Itsh the one with the … where you … you stop 'em arguing." She smiled fondly, but with a hint of exasperation._  
 _"Yes, The Ashen Quadrant."_  
 _"Whish one are we?" you asked, your inhibitions lowered. You'd been dancing around this for months. You just wanted to understand._  
 _Kanaya blushed, a bright and beautiful flush of jade spreading across her pale cheeks._  
 _"We Would … You Would Be Considered My Matesprit."_  
 _"Mateshprit … red! Flushed. I know this one too," you told her proudly._  
 _"Yes, That Is Correct."_  
 _A silence fell, the ever-present thrumming of the lab's machines filling the room._  
 _"… flushed for you, Kan."_  
 _You fell asleep on her shoulder before you heard her say it back._  
-

You hear screaming in the distance, and then realise that it is not distant. You are the screamer.

(In your head, Dave chimes in "It is you." You marvel at your own ability to think on two separate levels at a time like this.)

The Condesce hangs in the sky. She killed Kanaya.  
Kanaya is dead because of this fishbitch.  
A drumbeat sounds in your head.

Make.  
Her.  
Pay.

It may not be grimdark, but the rage rushing through your veins is all you have, so you embrace it, welcome it, channel it. You're going to make her pay.

… Only you aren't, not like this. You can feel it already, fortunes mapped out before you like shimmering thread, lights fading and flaring as actions and reactions mould the matrix of fate.

("Good lord, Lalonde, this ain't a wizard fanfic," Fake-Dave says.)  


If you attack the Condesce, you die. The little thread snaps and goes dark, and it does not light up again. A Heroic death, you assume. Well … the world could use a few more heroes, couldn't it? Especially this one. 

You aren't going to lie to yourself - you've never lied to yourself, not once. You are choosing to die. You are snapping the thread. Throwing in the towel. Abandoning your friends to the mercy of the Condesce, and you strongly suspect that she has none. But you can't find it in yourself to care, because Kanaya is gone, but if you do this, then there's a chance that you'll see her again. Somewhere in the bubbles, she's waking up with cold, blank eyes, and she's waiting for you. You can't leave her there alone. And you can't stay here without her.

You'll see a thousand of her, and _maybe_ you won't find your Kanaya … but you certainly won't find her here.

You take a deep breath.  
You brandish your needles.  
You jump, and a thousand ashen snowflakes swirl in your wake.


End file.
